


Heart to Heart

by scatteringmyashes



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Gen, Nonbinary Character, Raleigh Becket & Mako Mori Friendship, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-29 00:01:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7662313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scatteringmyashes/pseuds/scatteringmyashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nonbinary Mako and nonbinary Raleigh in a post-Apocalyptic world. Things are not always as they seem. The world might not see it, but Raleigh and Mako do and sometimes that's enough. Sometimes, though, Raleigh wishes they could have something more.</p>
<p>A look into the lives of Mako and Raleigh after the kaiju and how the two of them navigate life, gender expression, and their ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart to Heart

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday present for one of my [friends.](http://americachav3z.tumblr.com) Toying with the idea of a sequel.
> 
> Say hello to me on tumblr at thepoetofjustice.tumblr.com :)

There’s parties and interviews and they both get so many medals that there’s no more room on their uniforms, but honestly Raleigh is only paying half attention at any given time and neither they nor Mako could care less. The fanfare is nice, a bit of recognition for everything that’s happened, but it won’t bring any of the others back and it won’t get rid of the nightmares. Neither will the therapists that both of them are told to see, therapists that are nothing more than procedures so no one can claim the P.P.D.C. does not care about the war heroes. 

Still, the food at the galas and the press conferences is delicious and Raleigh has never slept on such a comfortable bed. 

Sometimes the beds are actually a source of annoyance. The first time they arrive at a hotel together, some big five star thing that’s deep inland and surrounded by people and buildings who seem hardly aware that there was the threat of global annihilation at all, they’re both put into the same room. That isn’t the problem. The problem is that there’s one bed.

“Excuse me,” Raleigh says to the concierge service downstairs, their eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “But there’s only one bed in the room.” They are met with a blank look and they toy with the idea that maybe, just maybe, this person doesn’t know who they are. 

“Oh, my apologies Mr. Becket. We were not told whether you and Ms. Mori -- I’ll find you another room immediately.” The woman at the desk recovers well but Raleigh still has to hold back a sigh. They haven’t come out yet, nor has Mako, so it’s not anyone’s fault when they get misgendered. 

There are no plans to change that. Neither of them are brave enough. Perhaps Mako would be, if they did not have Raleigh to be concerned about. They both know that either the two of them come out together, or neither of them do. 

That doesn’t stop everyone referring to them as he or she, sir or ma’am from feeling like a knife between the ribs. 

“Here, this is your new room key. It’s just down the hall, but I can call someone to help you move your belongings?” She looks genuinely nervous. Raleigh knows that they have a gruff exterior and that a reputation as a war hero does not make one seem partial to kindness or warmth, but they still don’t want to be known as a terror. 

So they smile as best they can, take the key card, and walk back over to the elevator. Small spaces don’t make them uncomfortable, per se, mostly because a jaeger’s conn-pod always had more space than was strictly necessary. But that doesn’t stop them from dropping a hand into their pocket and fidgeting with the spare bits of change and the tube of chapstick that happens to be there. 

Raleigh resolutely resists the urge to put the beeswax on their lips, waiting until the elevator reaches the twelfth floor and walking to room 1205. They unlock the door and smile at Mako, who is sitting on the floor painting their nails. 

The war is over and people are starting to be able to buy little things. Factories have stopped making missiles and have switched to making cars. The P.P.D.C. is in charge of cleanup, refugee relocation, and essentially ensuring that the world doesn’t go back to killing one another. Things aren’t perfect but that’s ok. 

Right now, watching their best and only friend alternating between blue and yellow polish, Raleigh is happy. 

They haven’t been happy for a long time.

“What did they say?” Mako asks, blowing on their fingers. Raleigh sits next to them and pulls out the chapstick. It’s a silly thing, really, to be scared about being seen with it. They’re just so used to having a certain appearance, certain standards to maintain, that anything else is as foreign as a kaiju. 

Mako understands, to an extent. Sometimes Raleigh thinks it’s easier for them, since no one cares if they wear dresses one day or pants the next. But that’s not fair, either. Raleigh has heard all about the difficulties people perceived as female face in the P.P.D.C. Even at the height of the program, for every five ‘male’ rangers there was only one ‘female’ in a conn-pod. The ratios were better in other parts of the service, such as engineers or scientists, but not by much. 

“They gave me another room just down the hall. 1209.” Raleigh shrugs and shifts positions. It’s a bit awkward for Raleigh to put their head on Mako’s shoulder because of the height difference, but the two of them make it work. They both find it comforting, though, and a cramped neck is worth it. 

A few minutes pass. Mako leaves the nail polish out even as they finish, just in case Raleigh wants to paint their toenails. They did once, a bright purple that was so different from everything else they owned that it was common for them to look down and take a moment to realize that they weren’t hallucinating. It had been a messy job, done with a shaky hand and an imprecise eye, but it had been Raleigh’s work.

They had been proud that night, lying in bed with a soft yellow camisole around their chest and pale green silk pajama pants. 

It had been terrifying the next morning, walking out of their room in their rugged Gypsy Danger jacket and a pair of ripped jeans, boots laced tight around their ankles. Raleigh couldn’t help but feel like everyone knew, from the kind receptionist asking if they needed a guide around the city to the stuttering barista who gave them a cup of coffee.

They haven’t painted their nails, toes or fingers, since. Lying there, on the floor of a five star hotel, Raleigh thinks about it. Maybe they could use a darker color. Mako could always go out and buy dark blue if they don’t already have it with them. No one would think twice about war hero Mako Mori buying something nice, something feminine.

But if war hero Raleigh Becket so much as glanced at a dress the wrong way… 

They shake that thought out of their head. There is nothing good that can come of it, after all, and that is just another rabbit hole they know how to avoid. They motion towards the TV, its glass surface reflecting the blurred images of the two rangers. “Want to see if they have any good movies?” Raleigh asks. Mako tilts their head to the side in thought. 

“We could look for bad movies,” they reply, “and criticize them for our entertainment.” Raleigh laughs. Mako’s childhood was unconventional in every sense of the word and the two of them have taken to watching the movies Raleigh grew up with. As an adult, it’s interesting to see the films and realize all of the sly jokes that were put in. 

Also, Mako’s sense of humor and dry commentary makes everything better. Raleigh is certain about that. 

“Sure. But first, do you mind if I change? I want to get out of this.” They motion down to the black slacks and dark blue button-up that the stylists had shoved them into that morning. It’s proper and classy. The matching tie and jacket were thrown aside as soon as Raleigh got to the hotel, but they haven’t taken the rest off. Now, though, nothing is stopping them. 

Mako nods, motioning towards where their suitcases are still lying on the floor. “Your stuff is in the small suitcase.” The two of them tend to put their feminine clothes in what people think are Mako’s bags while the masculine attire is put in Raleigh’s. If anyone has noticed that the sizes are off, no one has commented. 

Then again, no one has probably noticed. It is not like the two of them let other people go through their things often. 

“Thank you.” Raleigh squeezes Mako’s hand before walking over to where their suitcases lay unopened.

The living room, as Raleigh calls it in their head, is larger than the room they had shared with Yancy when they had piloted Gypsy Danger together. As a whole, the hotel ‘room’ is more like a small apartment, with a kitchen, a bathroom, a bedroom, and a living room. They have no doubt that 1209 is identical. It’s incredible, really, that this kind of a place lasted through the destruction and the economic crisis that hit the world. America’s economy had suffered just as much as Japan’s had, if in different ways.

Still, the general wealth and luxury that exists here means that Raleigh can unzip the blue suitcase and shift through various sweaters, skirts, blouses, and assorted clothes before finding something they want to wear. 

Tonight, it’s a large purple sweater that’s too big even for their rather sizeable bulk, knit together in a way that gives it a huge gap for the neck. When Raleigh puts it on, their shoulders are just visible past the collar. The sleeves go past their hands and the entire thing tumbles down to just about mid-thigh. They couple it with a pair of pink sweat pants that are almost too tight around their hips but drag along the floor and hide how big their feet are. 

“You look good,” Mako calls over, a small smile on their face. Raleigh laughs and runs a hand through their hair. Now that they don’t have to worry about regulation, they’re planning on growing it out longer. Maybe even long enough to necessitate braids and ponytails. They’d like that, they think. 

Raleigh walks back over to Mako and hugs them, breathing in the familiar scent that they have. Mako smells like cold rain and foggy nights with a hint of their favorite perfume, a soft citrus of orange and lime, that Raleigh can’t help but envy. They know that they smell like; metal rusting in an empty field, the spray of the ocean with a tang of salt, mixed in with crisp mountain air. 

Sometimes, when they’re feeling bold, they’ll put on a little bit of Mako’s perfume. It helps ground them, during the interviews where the journalists pretend that they care about the end of the world more than if Mako and Raleigh are dating.

They aren’t, for the record. They’ve said it a few dozen times and they’ll say it another dozen more. That’s ok. Raleigh doesn’t mind too much. They know how they feel about Mako and that’s all that matters. The press can go screw themselves.

Raleigh tries to believe that about their gender identity too, but sometimes it’s hard.

“Have you ever seen this?” Mako asks, scooting over as Raleigh plops down next to them. While Raleigh was changing, Mako had taken all the pillows and sheets off the massive bed and thrown them to the floor. Now the two are able to curl up together in the soft fabric, nail polish pushed to one side. “It looks horrible,” Mako continues, enraptured by the television regardless of the quality of what’s on it. 

It’s a movie about sharks and a hurricane. Or a tornado. Raleigh honestly doesn’t know which. All they know is that people are screaming and getting eaten by sharks falling from the sky. The special effects look like they’re done by someone in their parent’s basement and it’s so unrealistic that even the blood and violence isn’t enough to make Raleigh think about the drift or the kaiju.

They smile and rest their head against Mako’s shoulder. 

“That makes no sense,” Mako mutters as someone is crushed by a hammerhead shark. “Have these people ever heard of physics?” Raleigh chuckles and settles in to watch the movie. For now, there is no press circuit. There are no cameras being shoved into their face, no invasive questions asking all the wrong things. 

Everything is ok. Everything is perfect. 

It, of course, cannot stay that way. 

Dressing for the celebrations should not be as stressful as it is, but Raleigh can’t help but hate it. Mako dislikes it just as much, but they have a quiet sort of anger that they can direct towards their stylists. In that sense, they are able to wear winged eyeliner one day and a suit the next. Regardless of their attire, Mako is elegant and beautiful and puts everyone else to shame. 

There are not many people who can so effortlessly pull off a drivesuit one month, a sleek black dress another, and a fitted silver suit with a purple bowtie the next. Mako Mori manages to do it and Raleigh just adds it to the list of things they find incredible about their friend. 

“You could always ask,” they tell Raleigh. “Perhaps you could wear some too.” It doesn’t matter if the two of them are talking about lipstick or eyeliner, blush or mascara. They both know Raleigh will never ask, at least not anytime soon. Half of it is that the world is not ready for them. The other half is that they are not ready for the world.

So during the day they wear suits and ties and sometimes it’s ok. They shave their face constantly but let their hair grow out to the point where the media is commenting about it, asking if this is some kind of rebellion. _It is,_ Raleigh wants to say, _but not the kind you’re thinking of._ Instead they just shrug and say they want to try something different. It isn’t a lie, not really.

They aren’t an idiot, they know that they are attractive, and that suits just add to the charm that everyone else sees. Raleigh sounds more abrasive than they act, at least that’s what Mako tells them, and they haven’t gotten any stern calls from their PR agent so they figure they’re doing ok. 

It’s still a surprise to see how many women, men, and other people are willing to throw themselves at Raleigh’s feet and ask for. Well. Things.

Mako has the same thing happen to them, but somehow the men lusting after them seem to forget that she’s a jaeger pilot who can kick any of their asses five ways to Sunday. Raleigh is surprised they haven’t done just that, but then again Mako has always been much more controlled. Sometimes Raleigh wants to take the jerks and shove them against a wall, use the strength and size given to them and beat the assholes senseless. 

Just like Raleigh did to Chuck, in what seems a lifetime ago. 

But Raleigh also has been working on their control and these aren’t other trained pilots, these are just stupid people who think it’s ok to harass a more feminine-seeming person. Raleigh has better things to do with their time than show them otherwise. Besides, Mako can protect themself. They don’t need Raleigh, not for that; they never have. 

“You look good,” Mako tells them every time they get into something new, regardless of whether it’s a three piece suit or a pair of sweatpants. It’s become a bit of a joke but it’s also soothing, grounding, a reassurance that someone sees them for who they are. Even if the rest of the world is ignorant, at least Mako knows the truth.

Most of the time that’s all Raleigh needs. Sometimes, though, it doesn’t hurt to be able to collapse in Mako’s hotel room, tear out of whatever overtly masculine clothes they’ve been put into, and wiggle into a dress or a skirt or _something._ Even if it was meant for someone with wider hips and narrower shoulders, it’s still better than whatever Raleigh was forced to wear. 

The stylists certainly know how to accentuate certain features. It’s a shame that they’re the ones Raleigh wishes to forget the most.

On those days, Raleigh lies there in better clothes while Mako putters around them. Sometimes they read, sometimes they draw, sometimes they watch TV. Often they do nothing at all, just sit next to Raleigh and run calloused fingers through sandpaper hair. It’s nice and it’s grounding. A lot about Mako is like that. 

Mako never speaks or asks if Raleigh wants to talk about it. That isn’t what they need and both of them know it. Silence is enough. The reassurance that Mako grants without words is somehow more powerful than anything they could say. Raleigh could never describe it, if asked, and they never try to. Not that anyone asks.

Once, afterwards when they are down in the hotel restaurant deciding between too-expensive crab puffs or too-expensive mini cheeseburgers, Mako asks a question that has been a long time coming. That doesn’t make the reply any easier. It sticks to the inside of Raleigh’s throat, clawing at their esophagus, leaving them feeling like they’re trying to throw up a porcupine. Incidentally, they’re pretty sure porcupine is also on the menu. 

“I… Yeah, he knew.” Raleigh swallows and looks down at their plate. It’s still hard to talk about Yancy, will probably always be hard. But if they can’t talk about this with Mako, then who can they confide in? “You can’t hide anything in the Drift, y’know?” They both know that. After all, that’s how they found out about each other. “That was how he. He learned about.” Raleigh can’t say it, just motions to themself. Mako nods. She understands. “I thought he was going to be furious, throw us out of alignment and out of the program.”

“But he accepted you.” Mako says it with such certainty, such conviction, that Raleigh almost tells them that. It feels cruel, in a way, to reveal the truth. 

Raleigh shakes their head. “He didn’t know what to think. After we got out of the Drift we talked about it. He could tell I had been feeling like that for a while, that this wasn’t just something that had come up out of the blue.” They pause, sorting through the memories and trying to remember which were theirs and which were Yancy’s. “I think what he was most upset about was that I didn’t tell him. I knew that he would find out but I still hoped that maybe he would overlook it.” 

There’s a lull in conversation. The restaurant's ambient noise -- the clattering of furniture and silverware, the soft murmur of voices, the pattering of footsteps -- comes together and provides a backdrop against which Raleigh and Mako order dinner. Mako ends up getting the most expensive ramen in Europe. Raleigh settles for what they hope is a good steak. It better be, considering it’s over thirty dollars.

Then again, Raleigh isn’t sure how much is considered normal when it comes to buying food. They lived off in P.P.D.C. canteens for years and then off of ration cards; it’s possible they don’t have the best sense for these sort of things anymore. But their waiter doesn’t say anything and neither Raleigh nor Mako are buying the meal anyway. It’s all part of the P.P.D.C.’s budget, their plan to use two of the remaining pilots as advertising for a unified world. 

The politics is a bore and Raleigh honestly couldn’t care less. They just want to be left alone for the rest of their life. That just isn’t in the cards and, well, Raleigh thought they would die serving the P.P.D.C. It turns out they just might, but not in the way they thought they would. 

Raleigh doesn’t ask the obvious follow-up question until several days later. They’re watching Mako paint their nails a bright pink. The color contrasts the horrid shade of yellow-brown that the hotel carpet has adopted. Then again, all colors would be a stark difference to the ones that seem to surround them both. 

It’s taken a bit of effort and no small amount of complaining, but Raleigh and Mako have managed to break out of their grayscale clothing and into the full spectrum of color. The other day Mako wore a bright purple dress with a blue flower in their hair. Raleigh settled for a blue suit and a tie that matched Mako’s dress. As per usual, the press went wild with speculation that they were dating. 

As per usual, it was Raleigh’s job to inform the world of the real facts. 

But the splashes of color also provide a nice distraction from the fact that they are now traveling along the areas of the world most damaged by the kaiju. Japan was difficult for many reasons, but now they have reached America’s West coast and it’s somehow even worse. Raleigh doesn’t look out of the plane windows anymore. Mako does, but what they see they do not talk about. 

“Did you ever tell him?” Raleigh asks as Mako paints their nails cotton candy pink. There is no reply for a moment. Mako finishes the final coat on her pinkie and blows cool air over it. 

“No,” they admit. “I never did.” Raleigh doesn’t ask if they regret it. They don’t need to ask to know the answer. 

That night, Raleigh doesn’t go to their own room. The two cuddle in the darkness, taking comfort in each other’s presence. It’s the first night in months where Raleigh hasn’t woken up in a cold sweat, the nightmares clinging to their mind as the last vestiges of sleep are shaken off. After that, the two of them no longer insist on individual rooms.

There is a joint funeral for Marshall Pentecost and Ranger Hansen. It takes place in England, the understanding being that Chuck’s body will be brought back to Australia when his father returns. A lot of important people are there. Raleigh and Mako are included in that number. The two of them are pleasant and polite, but they don’t really talk to anyone else except for Herc. 

“He would have hated this,” Herc admits. He’s wearing a dark green suit that’s reminiscent of his drivesuit. Raleigh wonders if anyone else has noticed. Then they realize that it was most likely intentional. “I know he liked attention, everyone knows that, but this… This is too much.” Neither Raleigh nor Mako say anything. They were not particularly close to Chuck and Herc knows this, but the number of people who knew Chuck and Pentecost is small. They have to take comfort in each other’s presence somehow.

Besides, if it makes Herc feel better, then Raleigh will not stop him. They have no right to do that to Herc. For as much an asshole as his son was, Hercules is a good person and Raleigh would not wish the death of a family member onto anyone. They went through that and they will never forget how much it hurt.

How much it _hurts._

“Have you spoken to Tendo?” Herc asks after a moment. Raleigh shakes their head, a stab of guilt hitting them. All these months and their friend, the person who was in charge of keeping them alive, barely crossed their mind. “He’s around here somewhere. So are Gottlieb and Geiszler.” The scientists. Raleigh did not talk to them much, but Pentecost approved of them and that spoke greatly about their talent.

Still, it would be hard to find anyone among the crowd. The reception is taking place in some grand hall, no doubt where many famous people have been married or buried. Raleigh can’t find it in them to care.

“Do they have you on the press circuit too?” Raleigh half-jokes, managing a small smile. “I’m pretty sure Mako and I have just been reassigned to an endless string of hotels and studio audiences,” they add. Herc chuckles and even Mako smiles. Raleigh realizes that they have not been able to joke in months. It’s nice to make people laugh, they decide. 

“Nah, I just played the part of the grieving father. Worked well enough. They’ll want me doing interviews now, though, since my son has been honored.” Chuck and Pentecost got some prestigious medal, the one given to all pilots who died in the war. Knowing that they were the last two to receive them makes it bittersweet. “Did you go to the other funerals?” Herc continues.

Raleigh shakes their head. The Wei Tang triplets, or at least what could be scavenged from the wreckage, were brought back to China and the ceremony was for Chinese nationals and a few select exceptions. At the time, Raleigh was with Mako somewhere in Africa. The Kaidonovskys were never found, but Russia held a ceremony for them anyway. There were plans for Raleigh and Mako to go, but their flight was delayed due to weather and they missed it. 

In all honesty, Raleigh can’t find it in them to care. This one funeral, with its oppressive black and the stern, unfamiliar pictures of Pentecost and Chuck, is enough. 

“When do you fly out?” Raleigh asks. They have a strong sense of respect for Herc, knowing what the man must be going through. Even if he is not Pentecost, he’s still a good man. That is something no one would deny. 

“Two days. I have a press conference tomorrow and I told my agent to keep me around a bit longer.” Herc shrugs. It takes Raleigh a moment to realize that he must have a PR person too. _Of course he does. He’s a ranger, just as much as you are… Were? Are?_ “Always wanted to visit London. Chuck would have liked it.” 

They don’t get to hear what else Chuck would have liked because Herc is suddenly carried away by an enthusiastic woman who can only be his agent, straight into the waiting lights and cameras of a group of journalists. Raleigh can’t help but be relieved that, for once, it’s not their turn. 

The next night, Mako and Raleigh find themselves sitting backstage of Herc Hansen’s big announcement. Everyone thinks they know what it’s going to be about. Some speculate that a book deal has been in the works, but others point out that he’s never been big on the limelight. _This,_ they claim, _is his retirement._ Raleigh doesn’t know what to expect. They can’t quite bring themself to care.

“You should wear this,” Mako suggests as their friend paces back and forth in a too-tight suit. They hold out a small bracelet, leather, with a few metallic beads in the center. It’s handmade and Raleigh doesn’t have to ask; they know it’s something Mako has been working on when they think Raleigh isn’t paying attention.

The beads have Japanese characters on them and it’s almost too small for Raleigh to read, but they can just make out the curves and crosses. Raleigh smiles and they pull Mako into a hug. “Doomo arigatoo,” they say. “Daisuke.” They are echoing the words on the bracelet now, but Mako doesn’t seem to mind. 

When they pull apart, it’s only because Herc is going up to the podium and there are still a few reporters backstage, eyeing the two like sharks from that horrible movie they watched so many months ago. Raleigh doesn’t care. They slip the bracelet on and don’t tug their sleeve down to cover it. 

They catch Mako’s gaze and grin. “It look good?” They ask. 

Mako shakes their head. “No. _You_ look good.” 

“Hello,” Herc is saying onstage. His voice is amplified with the force of a dozen microphones, each from a different news network. This press conference is being broadcast live to every country in the world in over twenty languages. Raleigh doesn’t envy the person who put it together.

“My son, Chuck Hansen, died January 12th, this year. That day was the day the Kaiju War ended.” Raleigh doesn’t know if this is a prepared speech or something Herc is making up as he goes along, but it’s awfully steady and practiced which makes them think this is something Herc has been thinking of for some time. “As many of you are aware, my son was born August 14th, in 2003. His mother, Angela, wanted a daughter more than anything.

“In a way, she got what she had wished for: a daughter. My son, Chuck Hansen, was born as Crystal Hansen.” There’s stunned silence. Raleigh is pretty sure they stopped breathing. Their mind is whirling. They exchange a look with Mako. Does this mean what they think it means? “My son was transgender. He underwent hormone therapy at age fifteen after being on hormone blockers for three years. My wife died before he came out, and when he told me I was shocked.

“For a long time I thought I had failed. I had tried so hard to preserve what Angela, what my wife, had wanted: a baby girl. But eventually I realized that by trying to hold onto my wife, I was losing my only child. So I gave Chuck my blessing and he was able to transition.” Herc clears his throat and reaches for a glass of water. On the monitor, Raleigh can see that his hand is shaking.

“Chuck’s birth records and certificate were changed. His gender marker was changed. The P.P.D.C. had no way of knowing that my son was not born under his preferred gender.” Now Herc takes a drink. It seems to last a lifetime. “Many of you will be wondering why I am saying this. Why I am risking my son’s reputation. I am saying this because there is a chance for a unified Earth, one without war. Without poverty. Without discrimination. And I do not want people like my son to be forgotten.

“Without my son, this war would not have been won. Without my son, we would all be dead. And that is something we cannot forget.” Herc swallows. “Thank you. I will not be taking any questions at this time.” He turns and leaves. He walks off the stage and into the back, ignoring the havoc that rages outside as his PR agent attempts to calm the crowd down. 

Backstage, Herc looks at Mako and Raleigh. They nod at him once. He nods back. Then he leaves. His steps are lighter. There is a weight lifted off his shoulders. Raleigh wonders what that feels like. 

That night, Mako is painting her nails green. Raleigh reaches over and looks at the bottles. 

“I want to paint mine,” they say. Mako nods and asks what color. Raleigh thinks about everything that they have gone through to get to this point. They look at the multitude of bottles, the collection that has grown as the two of them have traveled. One color stands out and when they pick it up, they cannot help but laugh. Of course that would draw Raleigh’s eye. Of course the color they want would be called kaiju blue. 

Mako helps them paint their nails. Toes and fingers. Impossible to hide. 

That night, as they paint their nails, they make plans to tell the world the truth.


End file.
